


And these few precious days I'll spend with you

by savvyliterate



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:45:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvyliterate/pseuds/savvyliterate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want autumn, Dr. Song? I’ll take you to the one place in the universe where it’s always autumn.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And these few precious days I'll spend with you

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off the imagineyourotp prompt: "Imagine your OTP raking up leaves together in their lawn in the fall, but eventually it just dissolves into the two of them rolling around and kissing on top of a pile of leaves." I promised Liz (elizabethbartlet on Tumblr) that I would write the smut if Danica would do the art. The title is taken from "September Song."

There was no concept of seasons on the planet that Stormcage was literally carved from. Rain beat incessantly, day and night. River wondered how they managed not to float away, and she spent a couple of precious hours in the maintenance supervisor's office studying the blueprints for the planet. She enjoyed scones and hot tea while guards rushed past in a panic, scouring the corridors for her. It was all very impressive, and she discovered approximately 1,320 security holes just within her ward alone. As for the water, it turned out that Stormcage's one major export was water. What rainwater wasn't used by the system was collected, purified by minimum-security prisoners, then exported to planets that lacked a decent water source.

River thanked the fates that her security levels meant that she wasn't sentenced to labor about in a water-purifying plant. Or, worse, she’d have to do something utterly mundane such as the prison laundry or kitchen duty. Really, she did have standards.

But, she found herself missing the ordinary turn of the seasons. Oh, it made life tediously slow in Leadworth -- a place that was backwards enough as is. Yet, there were four seasons, and there was something to like about each of them. Winter enabled her to use snowballs as very effective missiles. Spring was good from stripping the seeds from people's flower gardens and replacing them with potatoes. Summer meant there was no school, and that was always the best holiday. Autumn meant collecting leaves in garbage bags, suspending them in trees and rigging invisible snares so some unsuspecting person walking down the pavement would trip it and have a leaf-bag bomb land on them.

She traveled extensively, on her own and with the Doctor. She led an expedition in the purple snows of Trexla and discovered that monsoon season on Jupiter Neo consisted of a slushy precipitation that tasted a bit like pineapples. She visited planets where it was always winter and planets where it was always summer. After a time, her curiosity was piqued, and she began researching planets that were either all spring or all autumn. She could never find any, which perplexed her. She understood logically why it wouldn't happen, but she couldn't help but think people were missing out when they never got the chance to jump into a big leaf pile.

In this incarnation, River loved studying under the trees at Luna University during the artificially created fall that the moon government implemented for the humans that lived there. In a bout of nostalgia, she found herself packing her tablet, a couple of hardcovers and a small knapsack of snacks to pop out of her cell for the afternoon. She’d just disabled the alarms and strapped on her vortex manipulator when she heard the familiar wheeze and groan of the TARDIS brakes. With a hum of anticipation, she spun as the ship faded into view. 

The door didn’t open, so she took it as an invitation to board on her own. She eased the door open and stopped short at the sight of her husband furiously trying to fix his fringe in one of the reflective surfaces on the console. He pinched the locks of hair between two fingers and pushed them to one side, then the other, then back to the first side before deciding he liked it better that. With a frown, he ran a hand over his bow tie and flicked the ends, angling his eyebrows at the same time. He pushed back his jacket to check his braces and flashed a practice smile at his reflection. “How do I look?” he asked himself.

“Amazing,” River replied with a smile.

The Doctor spun and promptly tripped, falling back onto the console. He hastily patted himself down as he regained his balance. “River! What are you doing? No, no, go back outside so I can do this properly.”

“Do what?” She pulled off the knapsack and dropped it on the captain’s chair. “Strut out the door looking like a peacock?”

He scowled. “I was not looking like a peacock.”

“Bless.” She grasped his lapels and tugged him to her. “And, you forgot the breath mint,” she murmured before laying her lips on his.

His eyes went wide at the sudden realization of his faux pas before sinking into to the kiss. His hands slipped around her waist, and she stepped between his thighs as he sat on the edge of the console. One hand moved up her back to bury itself in her hair, and she gave a little moan of pleasure as his fingers lightly massaged her scalp. 

She could happily exist in that one moment of time and space forever, breathing in the scent of the man she loved and tasting the tea and biscuits he’d consumed not long before coming to get her. He pressed soft kisses to the side of her neck and slid the hand still at her waist under her jumper. “Hello, dear,” he murmured against her skin before kissing her properly once more.

“Hello, sweetie,” she breathed and pressed her forehead to his. She marveled at her capacity to love him, to be able to love anyone like that. No matter what Kovarian and the Silence had done, no matter the sacrifices she’d made herself, it was all worth it to have two minutes and 47 seconds of this.

Now he looked down at her simple jumper and jeans. “And where are you off to today, Dr. Song? Don’t tell me you’re leaving on another dig. I keep telling you …”

“No.” This time she tapped his nose, and he crossed his eyes. “I decided to spend my afternoon under an oak tree reading.”

“Reading? You mean you’re not going to visit the Frozen Fire Falls on Helix?”

“I did that six years ago, sweetie.”

“You’re not off to hunt the 7-foot alligators lurking in the sewers of Angeles Los 2?”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.”

“Well, then I know about when you are, dear.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Now, why reading?”

“Well, even I deserve a day off,” River pointed out, but the alligators sounded intriguing. She’d heard of an interesting artifact hidden in the sewers of Angeles Los 2, and she bet the alligators were guarding it. She really needed more practice with that 1866 Remington Rolling Block she’d acquired a few years back. “Although the alligators …”

“Will be waiting for you in the future. Right, how about this planet Jack was telling me about where …” His brow furrowed. “Actually, no, if Jack recommended it, we better …”

“Not in _that_ kinky of a mood either.” River grinned as the Doctor blushed and scratched at his cheek. “I was just in the mood to see autumn.”

“Autumn?”

“Yes. Fall? Leaves falling off trees and apple cider and harvests.” She felt a bit silly as she said it and wondered if she just needed to save it for a time to experience by herself. “I miss proper seasons at times. Have you ever looked out my window at Stormcage? The seasons here are rain, rain, more rain and even more rain. A girl gets a yen for a good fall breeze every once in awhile.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but she could see the guilt in his face. She was about to remind him for the hundredth time that it was her choice, and she would always make that choice, but then he tapped her nose and took her hand, leading her up the stairs and down the hall. “You want autumn, Dr. Song? I’ll take you to the one place in the universe where it’s always autumn.”

“It does exist then?” 

“Well, technically, it can’t exist as a planet because of the flux in the seasons, because it’s a delicate balance in nature on the cusp between the heat of summer and the cold of winter. But, it can exist in one place.” He drew her to a door. “Go on.”

She arched an eyebrow and pushed the door open. 

The room was a stereotypical fall pastoral scene, filled with trees with leaves of red, yellow, gold and six shades of amber. Apple trees heavy with fruit mingled with the oak trees. Hay carts stuffed with sweet-scented hay lay beyond the trees next to a pumpkin patch. It was every cliché about autumn wrapped into a perfect package and deposited in the TARDIS.

“There’s also a room where its always spring, and another where it’s always summer. The winter room is on the fritz. The controls keep freezing over. So, River, what do you think?”

River wandered into the room, her trainers kicking up the leaves scattered about the grass. “It’s very convenient.”

“Oh.” The Doctor sounded so disappointed that she reached for his hand and tugged him in with her.

“Sweetie, it’s a marvel. Just like everything within the TARDIS. “ River scanned the pastoral scene. “It’s a perfect microcosm of an idyllic harvest from the mid-20th century.” She spotted an American-style football under a tree, and she smirked as a silly, absurd idea came to mind. That meant she had to do it.

She dropped to her knees and picked up the football. “Complete with American football.” She tossed it from one hand to the other while the Doctor gave a little sniff. 

“Nothing like real football,” he insisted. “It’s rugby at best.”

“Of course,” River said absently. She placed the ball on one end and used the tips of her fingers to keep it upright. “How far can you kick it?”

“Plenty far enough, River Song. Are you questioning my ability to kick a football?”

Tongue-in-cheek, River grinned. “I’ll never know unless you show me.”

Eyes narrowed, the Doctor stripped off his tweed and let it drop. Warily, he approached River and the football. He circled her, cocking his head from side to side as he took in the angle of the ball, how hard River was holding it and how nicely the jeans molded to her bum. He coughed and straightened his bow tie. “Kicking it, right?”

“That’s all you need to do, sweetie.”

“No catch?” The Doctor frowned down at River.

“None whatsoever, my love. Just kick the football.”

Right. Bringing up his memories of American football, the Doctor paced a few feet away. He rolled to the balls of his feet and crackled his knuckles. He rubbed his hands together, gave a little shimmy, then sprinted toward the football. Just as his boot was about to make contact with the ball, River yanked it away. The Doctor promptly lost his balance and landed on his face while River laughed gaily. 

“That was a dirty trick, River,” the Doctor said into the dirt, which sounded more like angry grunts punctuated with her name at the end.

“Oh, sweetie.” River rocked back until she was sitting on the ground, the ball in her hands. “Have you not read Peanuts?”

“I’ll have you know I’m personal friends with Charles Schultz. His father cut my hair in my fifth-” The Doctor turned his head to one side and eyed River with the ball. “Are we the inspiration for this?”

“Spoilers!” River sang, and the Doctor grabbed a handful of leaves and tossed them at her. They made a pitiful missile and landed just a couple inches away.

“Oh, sweetie. If you’re going to attack me with leaves, make it more substantial.” River tossed the ball aside, gathered two fistfuls of leaves and crawled on top of him. As he protested, she dropped the leaves on his head and upper body. He grabbed her waist, flipping her underneath him as he grabbed for more leaves to toss at her. Instead, she wound up with them in her hair, and he had them sticking out of his shirtsleeves – looking like an odd scarecrow of sorts.

They rolled until they landed in a leaf pile, his lips on hers and his hands under her jumper. She moaned as he deepened the kiss, his hands skimming over her ribcage and covering her breasts. He could feel the rapid beat of her double pulse beneath his hands, and he drew her lower lip into his mouth to bite it slightly. He flicked his thumbs over the lace covering her nipples, and she sucked in a breath. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he breathed.

“Sweetie, we’re on the ground, and there’s leaves in my hair,” she said gently.

He rolled until she was on top of him again. The artificial sunlight hit the leaves stuck in her hair just right, making them glow softly. He ran his fingers through her hair, lightly plucking some of them off. “I need you. Need this. All of this.”

“Doctor.” She leaned forward until they were nose to nose, until he could kiss her again and stop her from asking questions he’d be loathed to answer. Or worse, blab about his reason for coming to see her in the first place. For admitting to how badly he needed to see her, this her, still in Stormcage. Still reckless and arrogant and so very _young_. He couldn’t tell her that he was running from the immense pain and grief of losing the Ponds, that he had left a much older version of herself in London to sort through her parents’ estate in the 20th century. Granted, it had been at her request, but still …

So he pulled her jumper up until she broke the kiss long enough to strip it off. The lingerie she’d chosen was more casual than she normally donned, a step up from the sports bra she wore when she was on expeditions or doing something physically intensive, but plainer than what she called “trashy lingerie.” He’d stumbled onto her collection at one point during their earliest days together and had spent the next week blushing and walking into doors. 

But, those days were in the distant past for him. He wanted her, and he wasn’t afraid to seek her out now. He wasn’t afraid to turn to her for companionship, when he needed someone at his back, when he needed the mindless release of sexual pleasure. He took it now, easing her bra straps down her shoulders and rearing up to take a nipple into his mouth while he squeezed her breast with a free hand. She rolled her hips against his growing erection, and he lightly sank his teeth into the nipple while pinching the other hard. She gasped, and he chuckled, laving his tongue over the slightly abused nipple. “I could do this for hours,” he murmured against his skin, and had. He had spent an entire day worshipping her breasts, teasing them both mercilessly until he’d given into the need to take her. 

She worked open the buttons of his shirt and tugged his bow tie off. She pushed him back slightly so she could press open-mouthed kisses to the slight stubble on his jaw, then to his throat, the sensitive spot where neck met shoulder, then down his chest. He spread his legs as she scooted back and ran one hand down the ridge of his trapped erection. Bending over, she blew hot air over the raised cloth before rubbing her nose against it. He shivered and fought the urge to grab her hair and force her mouth onto him. Instead, she teased him, running her tongue down his length and back up once before reaching for his zipper. After a minute, he was blessedly free, and she was doing the same thing to his now-exposed cock. Her lips wrapped around it like she was sucking on a popsicle. She trailed her tongue along the vein underneath before slipping the head into her mouth. 

Now he grave into that urge to keep her going down on him. He fisted his hands in her curls and kept the pressure steady as she moved. She cast her gaze up until their eyes met, and her lips curled into a wicked smile as she flicked her tongue over his tip. Then she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and moved her mouth in tandem with the stroking of her hand. His hands tightened until he knew he was pulling her hair. But, she gave a low moan of approval and kept going. 

He could easily come like this. The selfish and kinky part of him wanted to, or to pull out and come on her face, to see her lick her lips and taste him everywhere. Or maybe on her chest, between her breasts. Or maybe on the soft hair covering her, just above her clit. He whinged as he grew closer to orgasm … then eased his grip and drew her up. He kissed her as she hastily dealt with the bra. No, no, he wanted to be in her this time, and it seemed like she wanted the same. 

He nudged her back until she rested in a pile of red and gold leaves, the button and zip of her jeans undone. He glimpsed nude-colored cotton knickers through the opening that matched her bra, and he licked his lips. He stood, discarded the rest of his clothes, and knelt to draw her jeans down and off. He traced his fingers slowly up her legs, lightly tickling behind her knee in a move that made her moan and splay her legs. He could see the effects of the blow job on her, the damp patch in her knickers and the slight swell of her aroused clit pushing against it. He lightly trailed his fingers along the cloth, tickling the sensitive area gently before lightly rubbing her clit through her knickers. She sucked in a breath, and he grinned. 

He bent and, using his teeth, drew the knickers down her thighs until her curls were exposed. He left them there as he kissed his way back up her thigh and over the damp curls before drawing her clit into his mouth. He lightly flicked it with his tongue as she squirmed and begged and demanded. With two fingers, he parted her labia and slid them along her folds, not quite entering her. When her vocabulary had decreased to nothing but a litany of “please, please, please,” he pulled off her knickers and replaced his hand with his cock. He rubbed it against her, teasing her clit with the head, before thrusting into her.

It wouldn’t take long. They were skating on the razor-thin edge of orgasm, that very fine line where skin slapped against skin and pleasure built and built and built until after just a couple of minutes, she let out a scream as her muscles contracted around him. He closed his eyes then gave into his fantasies. He pulled out of her, and with a couple quick pumps of his hand, he came on her breasts and stomach. The vision was so hot, so arousing, that he knew he would be replaying it over and over in his mind for years to come. But for now, he collapsed next to her in the leaf pile, sated and a bit drowsy. 

It took a moment for River’s breath to return, and she lifted her head to study the proof of her husband’s virility. Her lips curved in a purely feminine smile and she stretched, the liquid glistening slightly. “Well, that’s a fantasy off the bucket list.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Of course. Next time, try my face.” She winked at his shocked look and sat up to rummage through his tweed for a handkerchief. She cleaned herself off the best she could and tossed the used handkerchief aside before curling into him. He nuzzled her curls and was utterly content. 

Eventually, they redressed and decided to put off showers until they were done exploring the room. The Doctor tried to kick the football three more times. All three times, River pulled the ball away at the last minute. Disgruntled, the Doctor took his revenge on her by finding a pie-tossing contest and throwing a pie in his wife’s face. Then they got around to marking a particular fantasy off each other’s bucket lists.


End file.
